


Sandwich Saves the Day

by Eyrecura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, all the sass, it's always for a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrecura/pseuds/Eyrecura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Sherlock unnecessarily doses himself with insulin? It's Doctor Watson to the rescue of his idiot flatmate-turned-boyfriend. Snark and fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandwich Saves the Day

“No, what you’re going to do is shut up and eat this chocolate.” John broke off another jagged line from the Hershey’s bar and held it in front of Sherlock’s face.

“Well, someone has appalling bedside manner,” Sherlock mumbled – not opening his mouth wide enough to allow John to force the chocolate in.

“I’m sorry my bedside manner is less ‘tea with the queen’ and more ‘holding in blood and guts on a battle field’. You’re hypoglycaemic. You need to boost your blood sugar. Eat the damn chocolate. Why did you even think it was a good idea to inject yourself with insulin? No, wait. Let me guess. It was 'for a case'.”

Sherlock glared at him and took an unnecessarily harsh bite from the partial bar. “There. Happy?” he spat around the mouthful.

“Hardly,” John smirked. “Are you feeling any better?”

He looked around for a second, tilting his head back and forth. “There’s only one of you annoying me right now instead of two, which is a major improvement.” John stuck his tongue out at Sherlock and he rolled his eyes. Sherlock grunted as he started listing off to the side.

“Maybe tone down your snark until your blood sugar levels out enough. Then you can roll your eyes all you want without fucking up your equilibrium. The chocolate should help for now, but I’d rather get some carbs in you. Can you stand?”

Sherlock took John’s offered hand, and slowly eased himself to his feet. John grabbed his elbow when he showed signs of wobbling, but he righted himself fairly quickly. He shot John a quick whip of a smile.

John laid him across the backseat of a cab and cradled his head in his lap. “Try not to pass out – we’ll be back at the apartment shortly.”

“Why can’t you say ‘flat’ like everyone else this side of the pond?” Sherlock asked petulantly. 

This is an ongoing theme with him. Of course he knows the answer – probably deduced it the first day they met. “Same reason I occasionally say ‘y’all’. You know why.”

Sherlock went silent. Thirty minutes later saw them back snugly in Baker Street.

“C’mon,” John said. “Let’s get you some food. I think I have a sweet roll leftover. Should do the trick. The carbs will metabolise slower, and be a steadier source of sugar.”

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise as he inelegantly dropped onto the couch.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Harr harr. You must be feeling better.” John lobbed the roll at Sherlock’s head and watched it bounce off.  
Sherlock glared at John.

John broke into a beatific grin, “What?”

His response was lost around a mouthful of bread, but John knew it wasn’t flattering. Sherlock finished his roll and reclined back onto the couch. John made a sandwich in case Sherlock wanted more food in a little bit, grabbed some Tylenol and a big glass of water, and sat down next to him. Sherlock shifted so he was leaning up against John. John raised my eyebrow at that. “Feeling cuddly?”

“Just shut up. Eat that sandwich.”

“It’s for you, actually. Just in case.”

“I must have really worried you. You made me real food.”

“It’s now your turn to shut up. Take these.”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out and sighed. He grabbed the pills and the glass of water and downed them. John put his arm around him, and Sherlock burrowed deeper into his side. John could tell Sherlock was nodding off, so he flipped on their television. He wasn’t going to sleep until he was sure Sherlock’s blood sugar had evened out. Sherlock didn’t need to know that, though. He’d just feel bad in the morning. Well – worse than he would already. John didn’t need another episode of Sorry Sherlock. The last one ended with John drugged on the couch, waking up to a small bulldog pup on his chest.

“Maybe I’ll make him a good breakfast.” John thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This was pure crack. Undiluted. It's also my first work on this site, so be gentle?


End file.
